


sticks and stones

by bronigiri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Time Skip, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25986070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronigiri/pseuds/bronigiri
Summary: "You need to stop gettin' into fights," says Osamu matter-of-factly.Especially,he thinks,over things that aren't worth it.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 195





	sticks and stones

The cut above Atsumu's eyebrow is still bleeding. Osamu presses down on it, feeling a pang of pain in his chest when Atsumu makes a wounded noise. He's not sure if this is what other people mean when they talk about _sympathy pain._ Maybe it's just a twin thing. 

"You need to stop gettin' into fights," says Osamu matter-of-factly. _Especially,_ he thinks, _over things that aren't worth it._

"Don't tell me what to do. What are you, Mom?" Atsumu tries to pull a face, and then winces in pain. 

"If you keep gettin' yourself hurt like this, you won't be able to play volleyball anymore." 

That gets him to shut up. The peaceful silence lasts only for a couple moments. Osamu methodically cleans the wounds and bandages them up. He rubs ointment on the gnarly purple bruise festering across Atsumu's left jaw, and ignores the way his chest feels tight. 

"You're so slow," Atsumu complains. "Just gimme the ointment, I could do a better job with my eyes closed." 

Osamu can't resist giving him a light smack right across the place where the bruise is the darkest.

 _"Ow!_ What the fuck, you asshole!" Atsumu reaches over and grabs a fistful of Osamu's hair, and pulls. It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Osamu's body not to knock his brother back onto the floor and paint his right cheek purple to match his left. But he manages it somehow. As the bigger person and the more responsible twin, he pulls away and finishes tidying up the wounds while Atsumu sulks and pouts.

"There," says Osamu. "Done. Now shoo. I don't want to look at your ugly face anymore." 

He's surprised when Atsumu doesn't fire back a retort. Instead, he stares down at the floor and plucks at a stray string on the hem of his pant leg. 

"Why aren't you mad?" says Atsumu quietly. "You heard what he said about you. About us."

Osamu sighs. He pushes the first aid kit aside and scoots closer to Atsumu so that their legs are touching. "Since when did _you_ of all people care what others think?" 

"I don't care when it's me," says Atsumu. "But when it's you—" 

Osamu was there when their classmate mouthed off. The girl he was in love with had been sending love letters to Osamu all month long, and he was angry, so he made up the most insulting thing he could think of— _he'll never want you, he probably spreads his legs for his brother or something._ And then, in the blink of an eye, his face was met with the loud _crack_ of Atsumu's fist against his jaw.

What a pointless fight. All that had happened was both of them getting sent to the principal's office. And Atsumu sitting here, miserable and quiet and not at all like himself.

Osamu shrugs. "It was true, though. What he said." It was kind of funny, actually. He'd just thrown it out there to _hurt,_ but he had hit the nail on the head. 

"But he said it like it was disgusting," says Atsumu, fingers digging into the carpet. "Like it made you less of a _person,_ just 'cause—" 

Osamu places his hand over Atsumu's. Slowly, his hand unclenches, and his fingers relax. Osamu takes that chance to intertwine their fingers together, and lean his head on Atsumu's shoulder. 

"I don't care, 'Tsumu. I don't care what people say. It's not worth you gettin' yourself hurt." 

Atsumu sniffles, but leans back against Osamu, anyways. "I'm not hurt," he says indignantly.

"Bullshit. Do you see yourself? You look like someone chewed up a purple sweet potato and spat it back out." 

"Oh, yeah? Well you look like a— a—" 

He loses his train of thought when Osamu trails a finger across his jaw. Osamu can hear him swallow thickly, can hear the way his breath catches in his throat. They don't touch like this, don't look at each other like this, when other people are around. Hell, even at home, it's mostly bickering and fighting, pushing each other into tables and knocking over furniture. There's no way that anybody else could quantify the feeling that flickers to life in Osamu's chest when he looks at his brother. Not when even Osamu himself can't put a name to it.

"... 'Samu?"

"Yeah?"

Atsumu nudges Osamu softly in the side. "I'm hungry. Make me some onigiri." 

Osamu pulls his hand away. "Do it yourself." 

"But I'm injured," says Atsumu petulantly. "My hand hurts from throwing all those punches."

"Okay," Osamu fires back without missing a beat. "Then I'll tell Coach to bench you for next week's game." 

_"Ugh!_ How could you treat me like this after I defended your honour?" 

"Nobody asked you to."

It's going to be a problem. Probably. At some point they're going to have to set some rules, such as not punching people in the face when they imply that their relationship is _wrong._ They'd have a lot of people to punch. It'd be a waste of Atsumu's hands, whose two main functions should always be to toss a ball and to hold Osamu's hands in his own.

Maybe they'll talk later. Right now, munching happily on the onigiri— that Osamu caved in and made for him of course— Atsumu looks happy and unbothered, and Osamu doesn't want to ruin the moment. And maybe deep down, Osamu doesn't totally hate having to clean up after Atsumu's messes, so long as he gets to keep little bits and pieces of proof that Atsumu cares about him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/tsumusamuwu)


End file.
